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Jane shook her head emphatically. “I can’t stay here! It’s the White House. Bing doesn’t even live here.”
Bing slipped into the room during this declaration and was at Jane’s side in an instant. Tenderly, he brushed hairs from Jane’s forehead. “Don’t worry about any of that. It’s not a problem to stay with you overnight, my dear. I’ve stayed over plenty of times when Darcy and I had a late night working on a project.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “Can you help her settle down while I use the bathroom?”
Jane was silent until the bathroom door closed but then said, “No, I can’t possibly stay.” She tried to swing her legs to the edge of the bed but gasped in pain.
“You can’t possibly go.” Elizabeth put her hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Remember how walking made it worse the last time?”
Jane nodded, biting her lip. Tears glistened in her eyes as she fell back against the pillows. Naturally, Jane was anxious at the prospect of being alone and vulnerable in a strange place. Her relationship with Bing was still fairly new, and Jane hated to impose. But Elizabeth had done this before. “Would you like me to stay?” she asked softly.
Hope shone on Jane’s face for a moment, but then she averted her eyes. “I can’t ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And I would feel better if I could stay. Just in case you need me.”
Jane allowed her head to flop back onto the pillow. “It would be nice to have someone help me get into the bathroom and change clothes. Bing and I aren’t quite at that stage yet.”
Elizabeth patted Jane’s hand. “No problem. You should sleep if you can. I won’t go far.”
Jane nodded wearily before her eyes fluttered closed. Bing emerged from the bathroom, and he and Elizabeth padded out of the room and closed the door softly behind them. Forehead creased with worry, Bing turned to Elizabeth. “What do you think?”
“Well, it’s not exactly the same as when she herniated her disc, but she needs to be careful. She should sleep now. The medicine usually tires her out. I told Jane I would stay the night since I’ve been through this before. And I can help her leave in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Bing said earnestly, anxious eyes fixed on the door. “Maybe I’ll go in and sit with her.” He gestured down the hall. “The living room and kitchen are down there. You can help yourself to some coffee or food. Whatever you want.”
He was turning her loose in the Residence with only those instructions? Elizabeth hesitated. “Is the president—?”
“Oh, he’s working on a refugee issue in the Treaty Room.” Bing pointed to a door. “It serves as his study. The man never sleeps. He won’t emerge for a couple of hours—and then he’ll head for bed.”
“I don’t want to be in the way,” Elizabeth said, although that was not at all her real objection.
Bing waved his hand airily. “Darcy likely is oblivious to everything except foreign policy.” With that reassurance, Bing disappeared into Jane’s room and left Elizabeth in the surreal position of being alone in the White House Residence at three in the morning.
She wandered down the hallway until she came to an open door and peered in, finding an oval room. The White House architect sure liked his oval rooms. This one wasn’t an office, though. It was set up like a formal living room with pale green sofas and chairs upholstered in gold and cream arranged around a fireplace. At the far end of the room were three floor-to-ceiling windows hung with gold drapes. Like everything else in the building, the room radiated history and formality—not a place to kick back to watch a football game. In fact, there was no television.
After turning on a lamp, Elizabeth tiptoed into the yellow room, feeling like an intruder but unable to resist a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to explore. It was more interesting than the broom closet and less likely to get her arrested.
Venturing further into the room, she soaked in every detail. It looked a little familiar; perhaps she’d seen photos of presidents hanging out here. Peering out the window, she didn’t see much except the railing for a balcony—underwhelming until she recognized it as the Truman Balcony.
This is actually happening, she reminded herself. I’m not dreaming it or imagining it or watching it in a movie. But it was still hard to believe.
A muffled thump from the hallway caused Elizabeth to freeze. Please, please, don’t let the president come in here, she prayed silently. After discovering her in his broom closet, what would he think if he found her in the Residence? At the very least she would cement her reputation as a stalker.
Even if he accepted her presence here, she would still be exposed to his razor-sharp tongue. Exhausted and worried about her sister, Elizabeth had no desire to fend off a torrent of disdain at three a.m.
Continued silence from the hallway helped slow Elizabeth’s heartbeat, but the scare had quenched her desire to explore. Avoiding the president was her highest priority. Her eyes searched the dimly lit Oval Room, finding a high-backed sofa in the rear, facing the windows. If she stretched out there, Elizabeth would be practically invisible from the hallway but still close enough to Jane’s room.
The Victorian-style sofa had a curved back and striped silk fabric. Sturdily constructed, the piece was probably a reproduction rather than an antique. Still, sitting on it seemed presumptuous without written permission from George Washington. She snickered at her own hesitation and very deliberately flopped onto the cushions.
Despite its formal appearance, the sofa was quite comfortable, enveloping her in softness. Although she had no intention of sleeping, she positioned a cushion behind her back and another behind her head and commenced reading the news on her phone. However, the sofa was cozy and the hour was late, and soon Elizabeth was asleep.
Chapter Six
Darcy stood up at his desk and ran his fingers through his hair. 4:12 a.m. Well, he’d certainly had later nights. He’d made progress on a number of fronts, although he was still stymied by the problems in Zavene. His staff didn’t seem to include anyone who truly understood the country’s convoluted tribal structure and how that affected its politics.
Plodding to the door, his body protesting like a far older man, Darcy again swore he would curtail the late nights. But there was always so much to do. Walking into the hallway, he shifted from work mode, reminding him of the events from earlier. The dinner party. Jane Bennet hurting her back. When she refused the help of a doctor, Bing had taken her to one of the spare bedrooms.
Were they still here? Surely Bing would have ducked his head in the door to notify Darcy if they were leaving. Still, Jane had seemed uneasy at the thought of spending the night in the White House. Which would be just as well. Although Darcy had no objection to Jane, she reminded him too much of the first woman he’d encountered who made him wish he could pursue a relationship while in office.
For the hundredth time Darcy mused what made Elizabeth Bennet so special. She certainly was not the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Movie stars and models always sought his company, and he had to send them on their way. However, Elizabeth was intriguing. Without a pressing need for a career, she still devoted herself to the unglamorous and sometimes dangerous labor of an aid worker in third-world countries. Of course, Darcy had met pretty, interesting, and compassionate women befo
